Alfred
by Spain Likes Turtles
Summary: Human AU Arthur is a young loyalist soldier who gets the shock of his life when he sees his younger brother on the opposite side of the battlefield. Rated T to be safe. One-shot.


**AN: I've been reading Fanfiction for years, but this is the first Fanfic that I've ever written. It was written for a project at school where I had to write a short story and was limited to five pages double spaced. It is a human AU of America and England during the Revolutionary War. I don't really like reading Human Hetalia AUs, so it's probably not the best. If I write anything else in the future, it probably won't be a human AU. If you have any suggestions as to how I could improve, please review.**

 **Now on to the fic.**

It had been nearly nine years since my younger brother, Alfred, and I came to the colonies. I was only eight, and he a mere six. We came here on a ship owned by an old family friend, without our parents. They were supposed to have come to the colonies themselves a year later, but their ship never arrived. The last thing my mother ever said to me was, "Arthur, you had better take care of your brother, you hear?"

I did as she told me to. I took care of him. I got us apprenticed to a local blacksmith, who took us in when our parents failed to arrive. He taught us well. In fact, he taught us so well that when a well known, master goldsmith came through town five years later, he decided to take Alfred on as an apprentice. Knowing how much money goldsmiths could make, I let Alfred go with him; however, that was the last time I seen Alfred until the war.

Two years after I let Alfred go with that goldsmith, a war started between the Empire and some rebel colonists. A large number of upstart rebels, claiming that our great king was inflicting too many taxes and denying them representation in the government, began to directly defy the orders of our great king. Then they had the audacity to declare themselves independent from the British Empire. Soon after the start of the war, I volunteered to become a soldier in the British army.

I had seen many battles during my first year and a half after joining the army, each one more scarring than the last, but none more so than this battle.

This battle started the same as all the others, with our commander yelling out orders and trying to prepare us for what was to come. Next, as with all the other battles, we lined up and stood with our firearms pointed towards the woods that we knew the rebels would be emerging from. The first shot was fired from the woods. Then shots were being fired all around me as the battle truly began.

We fell into a rhythm of loading, firing, reloading, and firing again. We eventually fell out of our lines to engage one on one with the rebel soldiers.

I remember watching both comrades and rebels as they fell around me, as they did in every other battle. I remember shooting and stabbing enemy soldiers. I remember the horrifying experience of watching the light die in their eyes. However, I remember no instance more vividly than the moment that made this particular battle so scarring.

I had been grappling with an enemy soldier, and had just broken away from him. I raised my musket and shot him in the chest. As he fell, I locked eyes with one of the rebels on the other side of the battlefield and froze.

 _Alfred._

Those eyes belonged to Alfred.

There on the other side of the field was my younger brother, dressed in the uniform of the rebel soldiers.

Everything grew foggy. I couldn't see anything except for him. I could barely hear the sounds of the battle raging around me. I didn't even register when one of my comrades nearly collided with me.

I don't know who called retreat first, whether it was my commander or Alfred's, I don't remember. I do, however, remember watching as he tilted his head up and gave me a look filled with defiance and betrayal, before turning his back to me and retreating with the other rebels.

I was frozen in place, staring at the spot where my brother had been standing. I barely registered when my commander grabbed me to drag me back to camp. It wasn't until I was dragged off the battlefield that I regained enough of myself to start running with the rest of the remaining British soldiers.

I was in so much shock over seeing my brother that I didn't even realize that I had been wounded until we reached camp, where we had our wounds treated. I was forced to sit on a stool while a nurse bandaged my injuries. All the while, I was having a silent, internal meltdown.

I couldn't believe it. My dear little brother was one of _them._ Except that he couldn't be, he was my brother. He would never have joined the rebels. He was too smart for that. Yet, he had been wearing one of _their_ uniforms. Had I really failed that much at keeping him safe? Had I really failed at following through on my promise to our mother? Had I failed as an older brother?

I was so focused on Alfred that I didn't notice when the nurse left and the commander came up to me, until…

 _Smack!_

"What happened out there, Kirkland?!" he yelled at me. "When I called retreat you just stood there staring at those rebels like a beetle-headed moron!"

I sat there, startled, and stammered, "I- I'm sorry sir. I didn't- I just-"

"You just what?" he said as he stared me down with hard,cold eyes.

I looked down. It was hard to actually say it out loud. I didn't want to admit it to myself. I didn't want to say that my brother was now my enemy. It was as if though by not saying it, it wouldn't be reality.

"You just what?" He repeated.

"I just-," I hesitated. "I saw my brother. He was there, on the battlefield, with the rebels."

His eyes softened slightly, "You saw your brother?"

Trying not to shake, I nodded and looked down again.

After saying it aloud, I couldn't deny it anymore. Reality was finally starting to settle in around me. My little brother was one of the rebels. He was my enemy.

Then I heard a sigh, and suddenly there was a hand on my head.

I looked back up at him and he proceeded to tell me something that would change my life.

"Kirkland, we all have that one family member or that one friend that joined the rebel army. You just happen to be one of the rare few who met them on the battlefield. Do not blame yourself for his choices and his follies. They belong to him, and him alone. He made a mistake. We all make mistakes, and we all have to live with the consequences of those mistakes. There is a possibility that his will cost him his life. Whether he lives or dies, it is no longer your concern. You should be concerned about your own life, and how you live it. Your brother has made his choices, and they differ greatly from yours."

When he stopped, all I could do was stare at him in awe. Until he stepped back, flicked me in the forehead, and said, "Did you get all that, Kirkland?"

I felt like an idiot. All I could say to that was, "I- Uh- Y-yes sir. I did."

"Good! Now, you are never going to stop like that in the middle of a battle again. If it happens again, it will probably be the last mistake you ever make."

"Yes sir, I promise it will never happen again," I said as he began to walk away.

He stopped again about two meters away, whipped around, smiled and declared,"Having said all that, if both you and your brother happen to survive this war and meet again afterwards, be sure to give him a nice shiner from the British Army." Then he strutted off to go scold one of my other comrades for whatever stupid thing it was that they had done during the battle.

I will never forget that incident or those words that my commander spoke to me that day. He dragged my sorry hide back to reality, and whether he knew it or not, his words were the only thing that kept me from going insane at the sight of my brother on the other side of the war. He taught me how to accept reality as it was instead of how I wished it would be.

I took his advice to heart. I didn't blame myself for my brother, and I lived my own life. I even made certain to never stop during a battle again. I also never saw my brother on the battlefield for a second time.

Of course, as you know, we lost the war and the rebels gained independence for their "United States of America." I had the option of leaving and going back to my childhood home of England, but I chose to stay in the now former colonies. I'm glad I did, for I got to see Alfred again. We reconciled and now we could even be considered as close as we were as children.

However, he thinks we didn't get off to a very good restart. I think otherwise, I gave him what he deserved, for the first thing I did when I met him again was take my commander's parting advice from that day.

I have yet to see a more beautiful shiner.


End file.
